


And That's The Way We Get By

by redacted_rills



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Than Fiction (2006)
Genre: Beverly and Bill team up and its dangerous, M/M, Richie is a failed comic, Risk Analyst Eddie Kaspbrak, The Inhaler CAN save us, no beta we die like men, stan likes birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redacted_rills/pseuds/redacted_rills
Summary: Edward Kaspbrak is a risk analyst who didn't expect much from his life beyond the simple day-to-day routine he had carefully created for himself.  But that was before the voice started.  And before his inhaler stopped working.  And before his job sent him to inspect a closing comedy club prior to its foreclosure, much to the annoyance of the (maybe, possibly) cute comedian owner.But mostly it's about the voice and how it narrates Eddie's every move and every thought.And this is all well before the words "little did he know."Because "little did he know" meant that there was something Eddie didn't know.  Did you know that?**OrBill Denbrough can't figure out an ending to his novel past the fact that the character Eddie Kaspbrak has to die.**OrThe Stranger Than Fiction AU that nobody (me) asked for (meee) after watching the movie (me, it was me, friends) on Netflix this weekend.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 14





	And That's The Way We Get By

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I'm sure you have some questions. Like "What?" Or probably "why?"
> 
> But Stranger Than Fiction is a truly excellent movie and Reddie seemed like they would fit so well. AND THEN I started thinking about how Bill is an author and it dawned on my with growing horror that I was going to have to take on this AU.

Edward Kaspbrak was a man who saw infinite possibilities - all of them bad and most of them fatal. 

He could rattle off the danger inherent in any number of daily activities.from brushing your teeth

\- (brushing too hard leads to sensitive teeth, too soft leads to gingivitis and tooth decay, CHOKING HAZARD)

to getting lunch with friends

\- (restaurant not up to health code, server not up to health code, CHOKING HAZARD)

to a warm cup of tea before bed

\- (reduced iron absorption, heartburn, and ((he knows what you’re thinking - its just hot water in a cup - but it can still be a)) CHOKING HAZARD).

Eddie could tell you, at a glance, the risks present at any place of work.He could list what danger you are in based on zip code for any residence you might be thinking about purchasing. 

It isn’t that he was a pessimistic person, per se.It is just that the world was a precarious place - his mother had taught him that from when he was young.You had to see all of the risks lying in wait and to avoid them at all costs.Be safe.Be vigilante.

And so it was that Eddie avoided any and all of these risks to the best of his abilities for 39 years. 

Every morning at 7:15am on the dot, he woke to the alarm set on his wrist watch and went about a very practiced morning routine. He brushed his teeth (at the correct pressure - not too hard, not too soft) 76 times total before spitting into his immaculately clean bathroom sink. His outfit for the day was already pressed and waiting in the closet - fastidiously laid out the night before.The apple for his breakfast was already waiting on the kitchen counter for him to grab on the way out, carefully inspected for any bruising or brown spots before it was purchased at the grocery store down the street. 

Eddie worked as a senior risk analyst at a large Manhattan firm.Every day, Monday through Friday, for the last 18 years, he would come into his modest cubicle and work exactly 8 hours and 30 minutes - with the only respite to break up the day being a 25 minute lunch break (taken alone in the break room after a thorough lysol wipe down of the small table in the back) and two 4.5 minute coffee breaks taken while wandering the halls of the large office building to avoid chatty coworkers.

Heartbreak and emotional pitfalls presented their own risks to be wary of.He avoided the unneeded drama of relationships full stop.Coworkers were carefully kept at bay so as not to cross over into friendship - except perhaps Stanley Uris in accounting, whose conversation was not a total waste of time and breath. 

Every so often, Stan would stop by the cubicle where Eddie worked and tell stories about his latest birdwatching trip.Eddie had little to add to the conversation but he enjoyed the vivid pictures that Stan could conjure up as he described Black-backed Woodpeckers. And Boreal Chickadees.

Stan would go on and on in loving detail about exotic sounding birds, although they were all native to New England.He spoke of Golden-crowned Kinglets…of Blackpoll Warblers…of Dark-eyed Juncos...  
When Stan would tell his stories, Eddie would catch himself closing his eyes to _imagine…_ to imagine a world that was both bigger and grander than he had ever known it to be…a world that wasn’t safe but wasn’t so terrifying either…

But that never lasted long. The trouble with imagining is too many outcomes.

So it is safe to say that for the most part, Eddie Kaspbrak worked alone and he lived alone.And, to be quite honest and speaking as a general rule, it was all much to his liking, thank you kindly.

Now, if his inhaler had heard him say that, its feelings might have been quite hurt indeed.Because through all of the mundanity and the day-in, day-out numbness that was Eddie Kaspbrak’s existence, the inhaler was always right there beside him.It waited on the nightstand patiently for 7:15am to come around and for the day to begin.It sat snuggly in Eddie’s back pocket as he drove to work or paced the hallways.And, when Eddie needed it, the inhaler would summon all of its strength and then push out all of the affection and good wishes and medicine that it felt for Eddie out into his lungs and he would feel better for it. 

The inhaler had grown to love this man that it had known as such a scared boy and watched grow into such a careful man. 

Which is why, on this particular Wednesday morning, the inhaler decided enough was enough, and it set into motion a series of events that nobody could have foreseen.

Not even Edward Kaspbrak, who was always so good at predicting every outcome.

***

The day started out much as the ones preceding it.The alarm rang as it always did and Eddie slapped blindly along the nightstand to hit the button that would stop the beeping.He knocked something to the floor as he reached along by feel until he found his watch and turned off the alarm, sending his still apartment back into early morning quiet.

  
He wished for a few more minutes of sleep.His dreams had been hazy and tropical…there was a brief image of floating along a warm current with large, slow creatures and Eddie wanted to hold on to the feeling for a little longer. 

Did you know that snoozing is one of the most damaging acts a person can do to their sleep schedule and internal body clock? Eddie knew that. Eddie never hit the snooze button. 

“He blearily opened his eyes and made his way to the bathroom w-whe-where”

Eddie stopped with one foot on the cold tile of the bathroom and one foot still back on the carpet of the bedroom - frozen in place.He cocked his head carefully to one side.

“Hello?” he called cautiously.

There was silence.

Eddie stepped his other foot into the bathroom -

“and made his way to the bathroom where he b-b-began -”

“Hello - who is saying that?” Eddie snapped, turning to face the doorway and backing into he sink. 

There was silence.

Carefully, Eddie scanned the room - hundreds of possibilities for who was in the apartment and where they could be hiding ticked along his brain.Slowly, breathe quivering in his chest, he stepped toward the drawn shower curtain and then quickly flicked it back!

To show an empty shower. 

There was silence.

Shaking his head, Eddie turned back towards the sink -

“and made his way to the bathroom, where be began the sure and slow count of the strokes of h-h-his toothbrush, imagining each stroke as another tick in the clock of his life -“

“Ok - who is saying that?” Eddie called out to the empty room.Or to the heavens.Or…just to himself…standing there, staring at his own reflection in the mirror over his immaculate clean sink.

It was the strangest thing.The voice was clear and distinct, and yet seemed to come from inside Eddie’s own head rather than from any external location. 

It wasn’t that Eddie was thinking the thoughts to himself.It was most definitely a voice outside of Eddie’s own consciousness.Just…a voice outside of Eddie that was coming from inside of him.

_And how did it know?_

“Who just said ‘he began the sure and slow count of the strokes of his toothbrush’?”Eddie asked the world at large.

There was silence.

Eddie stared frozen and wide eyed into his own face looking back at himself.

“Who said that and…and why would they have a stutter??”

***

William Denbrough clutched his mangled stump of an arm to his chest.He whimpered as he felt the blood flowing out of him - the energy draining from him - his life force going. 

Slumped into an inelegant lump on his side in the mess that was his Bed-Stuy loft, he surrendered himself to the darkness that was creeping in along the edges of his sight.

There was something he had wanted to say…there was something to say…

And, while he was thinking of how to put it into words, William Denbrough died.

From the front of the apartment, the door opened and closed with a tight _click!_ and sharp high heels clacked their way around the scattered papers and trash bins and ash trays to the back of the apartment, where the body of Bill Denbrough lay.

“What are you doing?”

The voice was soft and wry.Bill had never heard it before.

He cracked an eye open the smallest bit to squint up from where he was lying and saw bright red hair and a very nice blazer.

Squeezing his eyes shut again, Bill sighed dramatically and flung his not-stump-like arm across his forehead, rolling onto his back.

  
“I am imagining bleeding to death.”

“Oh.Why?” 

The soft voice sounded closer to him, as the woman now in Bill’s apartment for reasons no one seemed to know leaned over him.

“Because.My arm.Was bitten off.”

There was a soft poke at the wrist covering his face. 

“This arm?” she asked dryly.

Bill shook his head.

“This arm?” She asked and softly touched the also-fully-intact arm laying along the floor.

“Mm.”Bill popped his eyes open and sat up straight, almost crunching skulls with the red-headed woman in his study.He turned on her.

“What do you think about bleeding to death?”

The woman had grey-green eyes that widened but otherwise her face remained impassive.

  
“I don’t think about bleeding to death.”

  
“Of course you think about bleeding to death.Everybody thinks about bleeding to death.”  
  
“I don’t,” she said simply, and offered Bill a hand to get up off of the floor.“Allow me to introduce myself; I’m-“

“Yes, yes - my publisher sent you.”Bill waived his hands distracted and paced in a slow circle along the room.“Which one of them was it?Audra?I t-t-told her I was going to d-do it in my own time.”

“Well, yes.I mean.I’m from your publisher.The name is Beverly Marsh.”

She held her hand out firmly in front of her and Bill stared at it blankly for a long moment.For just a second, he seemed to take in the steadiness of her hand and consider.Then, he shook his head like passing judgement.

“Mm.No.Thanks, though.”

And, with this stranger being thusly dealt with and dismissed, Bill turned back towards the desk and the vital work at hand.

Except, the stranger did not leave as she was supposed to.Instead she followed Bill to his desk and watched as Bill lit a cigarette and ashed it into the tray that was overflowing next to his old, beat-up typewriter.

“I don’t think you have a say, Mr. Denbrough.I’m here to help you - help facilitate the creative process.”

Bill blew smoke idly toward her, eyeing her thoughtfully.She waved a hand in front of her face and scrunched up her nose in distaste.

  
“And would you please not blow smoke directly at me?I quit a few years ago -“

“Ah.Not much of a creative then.All the best of us smoke like chimneys.”

“-and my father smoked for many years when I was growing up.I…I don’t care for the smell.”

“No one is smoking them for the smell, Ms. March” he mumbled in irritation but dutifully swiveled his chair around to face away from her and blow out towards an open window to the side of the room.

“Marsh,” came the soft, firm voice from behind him.“And I am not here to be creative, Mr. Denbrough.I said I facilitate the creative process.Actually creating - telling the story - that is your job.Now I have been an assistant for 6 different authors before you, and we never missed a deadline, and we never didn’t finish a book.”

She leaned across the desk but Bill didn’t turn around. 

“So tell me, Mr. Denbrough, how can I help you to be the creative we all need you to be right now.”

Bill let his gaze drift over the rooftops outside of his window and took a slow drag from his cigarette.

“I don’t kn-now how to k-kill Edward Kaspbrak.” he said softy, as though admitting a deep secret.

“Who is Edward Kaspbrak?” Beverly asked, straightening up to rest her hip against the desk.Her gaze was drawn to the pages of manuscript strewn about like a whirlwind.

“He’s no one.He’s a risk analyst.He should be so easy to k-k-kill.But I just can’t do it.I can’t get it r-right.”

Beverly made a “hmm” noise and leafed through a few pages next to her.Bill closed his eyes in defeat.

“You see my p-p-p-problem, right?The corner I’ve written myself into?He’s a RISK analyst.A neurotic, hypochondriac of a risk analyst.If you’ve already lived your life scared of everything, then what is the one answer?The one for all the m-marbles?The really po-poetic way to g-g-go?”

“So you think of things like…bleeding to death.” Beverly murmured to herself, her fingers trailing along the top page closest to her.Bill swirled the chair back around and stubbed out the cigarette dismissively right onto the page she had been reading.

“Yes, yes, but that’s not right at all.But I’m close.I can f-f-feel it.Tell Audra I’ll get there.But in _my own t-time,_ ” he said again.

Beverly rose to her full height and Bill found himself leaning back in the chair to stare at her fully head-on for the first time.She had wide, open features with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a sprinkle of fiery determination across her face.

“Mr. Denbrough.I am here to be your assistant.I would suggest instead of trying to get me to leave, you should use me as an asset.I am here - I have nothing and no where else I would rather be.I am very, _very_ good at what I do and I am going to help you, whether you like it or not.So why don’t you _not light that, thank you very much_ ,” She plucked the new cigarette that Bill had gotten out of his pack and flicked it behind her shoulder.

“And let’s actually write something.Let’s finish this book.”

They stared at each other for a long time.

A wicked grin slowly spread across Beverly’s face and it made her look years younger than the fiery woman she had seemed just moments before.Bill felt an answering grin spread across his face to match.

“Mr. Denbrough.”

“Ms. Marsh.”

“Let’s kill Edward Kaspbrak.”


End file.
